


I'm Not

by onepercent



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Established Relationship, Fights, M/M, Muscular dystrophy, Physical Disability, Sad stuff man, but then again since when have I written anything happy, dont read this when ur looking for fluffy nice times basically, not uplifting at all, sorry - Freeform, they live together etc etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onepercent/pseuds/onepercent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fights are normal in a relationship, but John often wonders if having two stubborn, let-me-do-it, hot headed, mentally troubled people living together causes one too many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up, Alex has muscular dystrophy in this story–its not necessarily crucial to the plot but whatever I wanted to write it so I did. Also, one slur is said, but only once. Enjoy.

"Alex," John calls. He shakes the grossly off-white bottle again just to be sure it's really full. It looks like it's only been open maybe once, sliced roughly open on the top by what was probably a jagged fingernail. 

"Hm," Alexander replies from his room, not looking up from his lovely beaten up laptop. His fingers move uncertainly across the keys (some a bit sticky from being assaulted by Alexander's drool when he falls asleep against them far too often) as he stares at them as he types–he really should take keyboarding classes. Eventually. 

"Have you been taking your meds?" John asks, rattling the pills as emphasis. 

There is a short pause, filled only by the sound of Alexander's uneven clicking. "Yeah."

"Why's the bottle full, then," John says, more of a statement than a question. It's not like he doesn't knew the answer. 

"I don't know."

"Alex."

"Yeah."

"Why haven't you been taking your pills?" 

There's a loud sigh from the other room. The tapping stops, followed by a quiet click of Alexander closing his computer. "I don't know, John."

"Alex," John frowns, exasperation evident in his voice. 

"John," Alexander mimics his tone, whiny and exaggerated, as he stands up and walks, wobbly from sitting for so long to the kitchen, where John is standing in front of their medicine cabinet that is full enough to be a bit concerning. 

"Stop that," John snaps. 

"Why," Alexander taunts, stepping closer to John. He's in one of those moods again, stubborn and sarcastic and rude. He doesn't bother to fight it. 

"Seriously, Alex, you need to take your meds."

"It's just anxiety, it's nothing I can't handle. It's not a big deal, it's not," Alexander protests hotly, looking down at his bony legs. He arches his feet against the cool tile. His big toe-nail scratches at a groove in the floor through a hole in the worn sock. 

"Alex, I can assure you that you having an attack and screaming at two am, waking up the whole complex, is kind of a big deal," John says forcefully. He pounds his fingertips into the countertop, tapping out some rocky, tumbling sort of beat that Alexander doesn't recognize. 

"It's better that than people thinking I'm stupid," Alexander spits. "I hate them. They make me slow and tired and people talk to me like I'm stupid when I take them, and I'm not stupid. I'm not."

"I know you aren't stupid babe, but you need to take your medicine," John tries at taking a more gentle tone. It sounds more condescending to Alexander. 

"Well I didn't get all up in your business when you were in your slum and sometimes didn't take your medicine. When you didn't take your medicine."

"I know that you didn't but that was me then and this is you now. I take all my medicine like a good fucking person now, Alex," John all but snarls. Alexander's face scrunches up at the highest part his sharp nose, between his blurry black eyes and he digs his long fingernails into his palms and he flicks his wrists in angry, aching circles before he looks up at his boyfriend. 

"What, so now I'm not a good person because I don't take them?" It comes out more as a yell than he anticipated. 

"Babe, no, I wasn't thinking–" John tries to interject desperately, closing his eyes so hard they crinkle up around the edges. He's getting a headache. 

"You never are, John! You're never thinking! I hate it. I know I'm not the best person because I cheated on Eliza and then I made you get in a fight with Charles mother-fucking Lee but I try so fucking hard. I don't want to take my meds. I don't want to take them. People already look down at me because of my dystrophy and my parents are in a ditch somewhere and, and, they're dead in a ditch somewhere and I have no money and I'm scared all-the-fucking time and the last thing I need is people thinking I'm more retarded than I already fucking am because of yet another bottle of stupid fucking pills!"

They stand in silence for the better part of a minute. John eventually moves to where he's leaning on his elbows on the cheap kitchen counter, head in his hands. 

"Are we going to break up now?" Alexander asks thickly. John can hear the tears threatening to spill on to his boyfriend's red cheeks. He straightens his spine and walks to Alexander, pulling him into a long hug. When he feels the smaller man's legs start to shake, he leads him to the other room and they lie down on the bed. 

"I'm just trying to help," John mutters frustratedly. "You've gone through a lot of shit. I want to make sure you're okay."

"I can take care of myself," Alex insists despite himself. "I can."

John nods and pulls Alexander closer to him, and Alexander buries his head into John's large chest. They fall asleep before John can answer his boyfriend's question from before.

**Author's Note:**

> At first I wanted to have them make up then I was like meh might as well let the reader decide. Sorry if this made no sense at all, but I had fun writing this in a mean kind of way. 
> 
> Feedback is eternally welcomed in the form of constructive criticism, praise, ideas for future works you might want to see written, or anything else you could think of.


End file.
